


If I should die before I wake (it's because you took my breath away)

by lyn7



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, F/M, M/M, Oblivious Steve Rogers, One-Sided Relationship, Parent Steve Rogers, Unrequited Love, unnecessary angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-13 07:36:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14744637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyn7/pseuds/lyn7
Summary: Bucky dies for Steve twice.The first time, they’re seventeen. Bucky’s second hand toyota collides head-first with a truck on the freeway and Bucky throws himself in front of Steve. His heart stops on the operating table for forty seconds before the doctors manage to resuscitate him, then proceed to amputate his left arm.The second time, they’re twenty seven. Bucky bakes the cake for Steve’s wedding, then moves halfway across the world the next morning.He’s not sure if his heart ever beats again after that.





	1. Chapter 1

Every year, Steve gets a Christmas card from Bucky.

Well, it’s never signed, nor does it ever say anything other than “To the Rogers family: Merry Christmas.” But Steve knows it’s Bucky. It has to be, they’ve spent every Christmas together up until the year he got married; the year that Bucky seemingly vanished and disappeared out of his life, albeit one incredibly cheesy Hallmark card a year, with Santas and snowmen and reindeers. There was even a card that sang “Jingle Bell Rock”. Sara had loved that one.

 

“Daddy!” Steve’s head snapped up to a sudden force thrown onto his shoulders as small arms curled around his neck, “Daddy! It’s Christmas it’s Christmas!!!”

Steve laughed at the excitement vibrating through those stubby arms, “Yes honey... and guess what?” He turned around and heaved the small child off him and onto the ground.

“What, what?!” She was jumping up and down with excitement, blue eyes sparkling in the morning light.

“Christmas means….” He drew out his breath for dramatic effect, then paused to knit his eyebrows together, as if to think “Hmm...What does it mean again sweety?”

“PRESENTS!!” She squealed, “Oh please can I open the presents now daddy? Please?”

He chuckled, picking up his daughter into his arms, “Yes dear, it means presents! But how about we wait for mommy to open the presents together?”

As if on cue, his wife makes her way down the stairs, looking stunning even in her ridiculous festive pyjamas.  
“Mommy! Daddy says I can open my presents!” Sara screams from his arms, Peggy drops a kiss to her forehead, “Well if daddy says so, I don’t see why not.”

Sara lets out another squeal of excitement before untangling herself from her father’s arms and runs towards the tree as soon as her small feet hit the ground.

“I’m beginning to suspect that you spoil her far too much.” Peggy mocks a frown, but her voice is fond and loving. Steve laughs and circles one arm across her slender shoulders, bringing her close to press his lips onto her temple. “I love spoiling both my girls, now come on, present time!” He sweeps her off her feet with strong arms, making her let out a surprised yelp before bursting into giggles.

Soon enough, Steve is laughing along with her, Sara is shouting at them to hurry up, her small hands already tearing through half the wrapping paper on her first present.

 

* * *

 

 

_“Open it Bucky!”_

_“You open yours first!”_

_“Alright, how about we do it together? Count of three?”_

_“Deal! 1-2-”_

 

James wakes up on Christmas morning to the soft sounds of meowing.

He’s sprawled out on his single bed, his arm and both his feet hanging over the tiny mattress. The half-pulled out bedsheets he never bothered to tuck back in are a wrangled mess under him.

Yana is meowing next to him, nipping at his fingers in frustration.

He reaches out to pet her, gently, just in case he accidentally holds her too hard by his metal arm like he did to the door handle last week. She rubs her head against the palm of his hand, purring in satisfaction. She’s always liked him touching her with his metal hand instead of his flesh one, which she always bites or scratches when he tried to pet her with his right hand. In fact, she seems to dislike any sort of warm, pleasant form of touching. He should have known she was cold-hearted little bitch before picking her out of the snow.

 

He shifts a little, making the bed creak and his head almost explode.

“Urgh, you should have warned me last night, Yana.” He groans, his flesh hand coming up to massage his temple. It does not make the head-splitting pain go away. Yana lets out a offended sound before turning her head and slinking out of the room. He swears that she was rolling her bright green eyes at him- if that was even possible for cats, as if to say “You brought this upon yourself, you foolish human.”

She is probably right, James thinks to himself before he drifts back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

He wakes again to the consistent buzzing of his phone and a peculiar craving for cheese.

He props himself up on his mattress by his prosthetic arm before sliding the phone to answer with nothing but a grunt.

“Merry Christmas!” The voice is too loud and too happy for him, for a moment, he considers hanging up, but he knew Clint would just call back again- or worse, just invite himself in and kick him out of bed personally, so he only produces another unsatisfied noise with the back of his throat to get his point across. 

“Naw, captain grumpy pants is at it again, wasn’t so grumpy yesterday night though!” Clint laughs light-heartedly, like he does all the time. Some days, James wonders if it was possible to offend Clint at all, maybe not, maybe that’s the only way Clint has managed to stay friends with him.

His brain- in a haze, takes a moment to catch up to him and he suddenly noticed that Clint had said something about yesterday night.

Yesterday night, which he does not remember much of, only Clint and Natasha had dragged him out to some Christmas Eve bar hopping- a crazy thing to do in the middle of Winter in Romania, but they do it every year anyway, and every year Bucky would always say "I think I'll skip the bars this year and call it a night", which his friends obviously were not hearing any of.  
He groaned, driving his metal fingers into his temple, massaging it. It doesn’t do much to help the headache.  
  
"What happened?"

“Oh don’t get your panties in a twist, gramps; we drank, we danced, we had fun! You’re safe and sound in your bed right? No naked stranger next to you? Yana hasn’t been kidnapped?

“No, of course not.”

“Then there’s nothing to worry about!”

He wonders how Clint can sound so chipper when he’s sure he had just as much to drink, if not more.

“I drink orange juice you know, it helps.” Clint supplies, as if he can read James’ thoughts.

“I’d rather not put anything more in my body.” His stomach still feels bloated from the amounts he had to eat and drink last night, churning inside him in protest- especially since he’d almost only eaten a meal a day in the crazy business in the bakery leading up to Christmas Eve.

“You got that right, we’re getting old. We used to down that shit and still manage kebabs for breakfast.” Clint chuckles. t

Before they went out yesterday night, they’d spent had their usual non-christmas dinner together being defiant of usual traditions- eating everything that would never be seen on the family Christmas table- takeout pizza, Chinese, cheap beer (All bought from the row of small, sketchy shops underneath Clint and Natasha’s apartment that stays open literally every single day of the year) 

For being people rebelling against tradition- ironically, they’d made the non-Christmas dinner a tradition of theirs since the first year they spent the holidays together; since James is a cynical little shit that hates the world, Natasha is Russian so Christmas isn’t until January, and Clint doesn’t really need an excuse to eat a whole meal of cheap, greasy junk food.

“Anyway.” Cint starts, as if he was just remembering what he’s calling for, “Nat and I are going to binge watch Harry Potter until we feel good enough to drink more, then we’re going to drink a shitload. Come by any time.” It wasn’t an invitation, more like a statement, because he knows James would show up without any invite anyway.

“Seriously, Harry Potter?” James rolls his eyes, “Are we going to play ‘truth or dare’ and have a pillow fight while we’re at it?”

“Only if you’re good. Maybe I’ll even make you a hot chocolate.” and James just knows if Clint was here in person, he’d be flipping the bird along with the snide remark. “See you in a bit!”

Natasha and Clint’s apartment is only a block away, but in the snow, it takes James 30 minutes to walk there, by the time he arrives, Harry has already been sorted into Gryffindor.  
Natasha gets up to greet him with a hug and a kiss to the side of his cheek, “Merry non-Christmas, Yasha.” He squeezes her shoulder lightly before accepting a friendly shoulder clap from Clint. James settles himself beside Natasha while Clint disappears into the kitchen and comes back with a pack of beer and cold pizza from the night before.

“Alright, who’s ready to finish all of this cheap beer and watch Harry Potter be an emo little shit for 6 hours?”

 

* * *

 

_The sun is shining._

_The cool breeze picks up the ends of his hair- it’s short._

_He’s locked in a warm embrace._

_He turns his head to meet the pair of baby blue eyes._

_“Haven’t seen you in a while.”_

_He gets a smile in response, “That’s not true. Saw me yesterday night, we opened presents.”_

_“Not you though, smaller you.”_

_“Still me.”_

_A large hand runs itself through his short hair, and he leans into the touch with a hum._

_“True.”_

_Turning himself around fully, he presses his lips onto the other man’s. The man stills and lets him, his mouth slack while Bucky molds his lips against it. He’s still smiling when he pulls back and presses his forehead against the man’s, sliding his arms past the broad shoulders and locks onto his neck._

_Both his hands are made of flesh, he runs one up into the short, blonde hair._

_“Missed ya, Stevie.”_

_The smile stays, as if frozen in place as the lips open to speak._

_“Buck.”_

_“Yea?”_

_“I met someone.” The corners of his mouth softens along with his eyes, Steve sighs- in happiness._

_“I think she’s the one.”_

  

James wakes up with a start.

It’s cold, Natasha and Clint are asleep at the other end of the couch, Clint mouth hanging open with a quiet snore while Natasha’s face is pressed into his chest.

The TV’s still on, although it’s back paused at the end credits of “Order of the Phoenix.”

 

Bucky stares at Natasha and Clint’s ceiling.

Darkness stares back at him.


	2. Chapter 2

Every year on Boxing day, James checks his emails.  
One at this current mailbox- the one he uses for receiving orders at the bakery because seriously who uses emails aside from business anymore.  
The other one is the email he made when he was 12 years old on the public library computer that he lined up 20 minutes to use.

Every year, he finds two emails waiting for him.

The one in his business inbox is from his mother, or sometimes it’s Becca, but it’s always a lengthy email of blessings, wishes and photos and videos of the holiday usually spent at his old family home. Usually, it was the same spiel every year- his mother cooking up a feast, his father enjoying it, Becca and her husband Thomas posing cheesily.  
This year though, there was an addition- Becca and Thomas’ beautiful newborn Daisy, face scrunched up, mid-wail in every photo. It made James’ heart clench in longing for home in a way that nothing ever has.

After repetitively flicking through the photos of Daisy, he types out his usual short reply of echoing blessings, attached some photos of the different festive orders he creates in his small bakery (his proudest creation this year was a reindeer cake for a corporate party), followed by an apology and a half hearted excuse as to why he wasn’t going to _come home soon_ , with a P.S that tells them they’re welcome to come visit.

The one in his buckyizdabest@hotmail.com inbox is from Steve Rogers. James hovers his cursor above the “Merry Christmas!” subject line for what seems like hours before clicking on it.

Every year, the Rogers family sends out an email a few days before Christmas, wishing all their loved ones a Happy Holidays, along with a huge amount of tooth-rotting, cheesy photos of the family.

This year, Sara is dressed as an adorable elf, holding out a candy cane as if it’s a magical wand. Peggy is smiling, eyes bending into crescents and red lips curled up as her husband hugs them both to him, grinning from ear to ear.

_Hiya Buck._

Every year, there is a personalised message at the bottom.

 _Hope this email finds you! Thanks for your Christmas card, haven’t gotten it yet this year, but Sara says she’s sure Santa’s trying his best! You should give us an address, we ought to send you one in return. Or maybe facebook? Instagram? Gotta give us something, I’m not sure if you even use this email anymore but you it seems like you deleted your other one so I hope you do. (But I kind of hope you don't as well, seriously?_ buckyizdabest? _Even Sara laughs at that)_  
_We’re all missing you from home, hoping to hear back from you pal._  
_With Love,_  
_Steve, Peggy and Sara._  
_P.S You have to come back home to visit sometime, Sara’s been pestering me to meet her uncle Bucky, wants to thank you for all your birthday gifts over the years, you spoil her more than me, I swear._

James stares at the email until the screen goes blurry, then he reaches for his lighter in hs breast pocket and lights a cigarette.  
Yana hates it when he smokes, so she meows judgingly before strutting out of the room.

By his third one, his mouse is hovering over the space between the “delete button” and the “reply” right next to it.

In the end, the email is moved into an untitled folder, where it rests like a rock at the bottom of the ocean along with six other emails.

On his fifth Boxing day away from home, he smokes an entire pack of cigarettes in one sitting, never taking his eyes off the computer screen.

\----

He awakens to Yana clawing softly at his face to let him know he’s hungry.  
“How long have you been lying on that bed? 3 days? That’s a new low, even for you.” A voice quipped. He heard Yana’s bowl being filled and almost immediately she was jumping off his bed.  
James grunted, Natasha had let herself in using the spare key that he hid under the doormat- probably checking up on him since he hasn’t even touched his phone and replied to their (no doubt, countless) messages after leaving their place on Christmas day. That was 3 days ago, but serious, he was an adult.  
  
“Still alive, aren’t I?” His voice sounds too broken and dusty for his intended sharpness.  
“James.” She spoke again, softly this time, he the mattress dips as she sits herself down at the foot of the bed. She reaching out to stroke his hair, moving the longer locks out of his face and behind his ear.  
His annoyance dissipates immediately, his hair is disgusting, and judging from her perfectly shaped bright red nails, Natasha had just gotten a manicure. For her to run her fingers through his greasy locks- it must be real love, or genuine concern. Which ever it is, he should be grateful that he could call Natasha a friend rather than being a dysfunctional little shit.  
“You got us worried.” She says softly, with no demand as to what prompted him to suddenly drop off contact, he feels slightly guilty.  
“M sorry.”  
She smiles, not the terrifying one, just a soft curl of her lips along with gentleness in her eyes, then she sniffs the air and glares at him- not unkindly.  
“You need a shower.”  
He turns onto his stomach and nods into his pillow.

 

He lets Natasha do his hair after his shower.  
“It’s getting really long,” she commented while brushing it out. “It’s almost longer than mine.” She gestured at her dead straight hair sitting just below her shoulders, that didn’t mean anything though, Nat was always changing her hair so she never leaves it alone long enough to grow it out.  
  
With one rubber band and a few twists, she manages to tie his hair into a messy bun, with so many loose little strands falling out of it he feels like it’ll come undone with just a small shake of this head.  
“You look good.” She hums in a satisfied tone, James sees her eyes twinkle in the reflection of the mirror. “We should go out.”  
  
He blinks, then shakes his head, the bun- miraculously, stays in place.

“Don’t feel like it.” It's the truth, he doesn’t feel like going out. He doesn't really feel like doing anything but sleeping actually.  
  
“Not today then.” Natasha shrugs, “New Year’s Eve? We have to. We can play dress up, Clint will enjoy it.”  
Clint will enjoy whatever, Natasha was only saying it to give him a reason to go, it makes guilt well up inside of him again, so he only nods with a small smile of agreement- even if all he wants to do is sleep into the New Year, sleep until it’s time to flip back the Open sign on the bakery and start working crazy F&B industry hours again.  
Then he can settle back into his routine- work, sleep, work, sleep.  
  
Then Natasha will have no reason to worry.

New Year comes faster than he anticipates.  
Staying true to his word, he lets Natasha dress him up- black button down, dark jeans, hair tied back into the same loose bun, and lets her and Clint lead him downtown to where all the nice bars and clubs are.  
He drinks, dances, drinks, drinks, drinks.  
In between the flashes of club lights and the booming bass, he thinks he hears someone call his name.

_“Buck! It’s New Year!” He’s standing in the hallway, playing with the phone cord as someone is yelling at him excitedly on the other end of the line, “did you watch the ball drop on tellie? My parents say they’ll take me next year, we should go together!”_

He throws back another drink, Clint is trying to say something to him with a concerned face.

_“Happy New Year Pal!” Someone’s standing next to him this time, big warm body pressed against him like countless others in the hectic crowds of Time Square, but his hand is on his shoulder, giving him a tight squeeze, and his heart squeezes in response._

Natasha is by his side, holding his arm to keep him steady.

_“First drink of the New Year?” Someone’s asking, their glasses clink against each other- bourbon to beer, the pair of blue eyes twinkling in amusement._

He smiles and raises a finger at the bartender who’s already filling up his next shot.

 _Someone’s yelling at him through the phone- a pelt of delighted giggles resounding in the background, it hurts his ears._  
_“Buck! She said Yes! Oh God, I must be the luckiest man alive! Happy New Year!”_

He’s forgetting something- someone and it’s important, it’s really important and _it can’t wait,_ it can’t wait another second.  
He takes his phone out of his breast pocket frantically. All around him people are yelling something.

“Ten!”

He slips into darkness.

 

\-----

8,641 kilometers away and six hours behind him, a phone resting on the dining table inside a Brooklyn two storey brownstone pings awake with an email notification.


End file.
